


wish you would

by cicadas



Category: Actor RPF, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Gay Panic, Getting Together, Joe Is Not Gay, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, So He Keeps Telling Himself, Social Media, Texting, joe-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 06:18:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18277511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicadas/pseuds/cicadas
Summary: Joe stops the thought before it can properly form in his head.The captions, the jokes; they're all in good fun. They don't mean anything. He doesn't mean anything by them.He's not actually gay. He's not.





	1. Chapter 1

He tries to ignore it at first.

He rolls over easily when he goes to sleep at night, leaving his phone plugged in, cord winding up the side of the bedside-table, away from his wandering hands. And they do wander, under his pillows, fiddling with the buttons of his pyjama shirt (which he wears because they're warm and comfortable and he's closer to forty than he is to fourteen so it's not uncool), curling around his water bottle, then down to the weighted rectangle he's picked up without realising.

He raises it above his face and the device unlocks automatically. He finds himself squinting at it despite the brightness being all the way down. He's been having to remind himself he doesn't _need_ to squint, lately. Winding down from a character's quirks has always taken him a while.

He opens the pretty pink-orange app, and then he's scrolling, turning in bed, phone in front of his face, looking over the same several pictures he saw half an hour ago. _Nobody's posting now,_ he thinks. _People are in bed, sleeping, having sex, maybe. Not on their phones cropping pictures for other people to see. They have lives. I have a life._

He tells himself that, and clicks the tiny plus in the bottom-centre of the screen.

His own feed lately has just been award show pictures from months ago - trying to trick his brain into thinking it was only the other day by posting them every now and then. Videos of him driving, fucking around, talking to fans. Interacting. Keeping up a good face. Those on the receiving end don't see him sitting on the toilet picking out these photos, or mid-shave coming up with a witty caption, or in bed trying to figure out if it's lame to add tags.

His last few posts were just of him, so he scrolls up in his camera roll until he finds his favourite section - his friends. The ones he met, loved, and now is apart from. He hits filming days, which is too far back, so he scrolls down a bit. Trees, someone's dog, his fancy plane seat, Gwil's egg sandwich when they went out for lunch which was a literal hardboiled egg on bread that had Joe cackling hysterically and pulling out his phone. He could definitely post that one and get a good reaction from his mates. But it was personal. Funny to him because he remembered it still so clearly. He gave the screen a small smile, and flicked across.

There he was. Posing next to his beautiful cardboard counterpart. Joe went to laugh, but it was a bit forced.

 

Ben was grinning in the picture, face slightly blurry, in the middle of turning to yell at Rami for 'looking at him too much' if Joe remembers correctly. It's in the space between filming and awards shows, between their texts and visits. Ben wasn't on the tour with them, so he brought that stupid cut-out for some reason. Got attached to it, made a joke out of it, made a big deal out of it. Out of being with Ben.

Because somewhere in his head he decided he needed Ben to be there, to complete the group. But it wasn't just that. He wanted to drink with him in Japanese bars, and film themselves dancing while tipsy in some robot bar they had to pay to get into, and take dumb pictures Joe always has to be the one to insist on because nobody else wanted to take selfies and it was ridiculous. He kept the thing in his suitcase for weeks, filmed himself talking to it, joked about having a _relationship_ with it.

His only consolation to himself is that he didn't talk to it alone. At least not without a phone held up in one hand, recording.

Thinking about it now, he thinks it's fucking dumb. Thinks he's fucking dumb. He has the comments from those particular posts ingrained on some strand of his brain, cropping up now and then whenever he thinks about making another 'Cardy Ben update'. They remind him he's nearing his own personal midlife crisis, faking a relationship with another guy a lot younger than him.

Another _guy._

And he's not gay. He's never been gay. Never thought about being gay.

Not that that should have an affect on his humour. It's all in good fun, these hints at 'something else' when putting up a picture with him and his friend all dressed up ready to go out to a carpet, or even on break or a day off, getting lunch somewhere small and kicking feet under their table because they're both still wearing their costume shoes. Taking pictures of their feet touching and the sun shining on them because it looks nice. Because it's funny. Because he wants to remember.

Joe holds his phone tighter and remembers what he was doing. Aside from getting some goddamn sleep.

He flicks past the picture without really focusing on it and scrolls, slowly. Makes sure to keep his eyes trained for pics with him and Rami, or Gwil, or messing about with a random dog he found out walking. It was cute, the pup. Made him think about having a home he owned, with a dog that slept out on the grass in the sun and chased bugs, and was happy with him. A simple fantasy of adult life. Settled.

He wants to keep looking, but his mind drifts, and this time he tries to ignore it. Just like he always tries to ignore it.

He doesn't need his phone to show him photos of what he's thinking about for it to be clear. In colour, bright in his mind. It's his last days seeing Ben before he heads back home to England, and the memories are in a sickening hazy glow.

He hugs him, in his memories. Hugs him a lot. After he's reminded he won't be seeing him in one more day, when he says hello, goodbye, when he makes a joke at his expense and says sorry with his arms snaking around Ben's wide shoulders. Those aren't the times that stick out, though. It's the ones that make him shake his head, and repeat the sentiment of idiocy, of his age, of his loneliness. The ones that make him call himself pathetic, spoken half-bitter and mostly truthful.

The times he wanted to hug him, but didn't. When just a hug seemed too small of a gesture, or too large.

He wanted to hold his hand that time they had a late lunch, because he was busy around dinner time and Ben wanted to head back early anyway. So they found a café that stayed open till five thirty, and they sat outside on a rickety table as the only customers and ate grilled ham and tomato sandwiches and drank coffee. Ben had lemonade, which Joe called mature and elegant, and Ben called his coffee an old man version of the drink because it was just a plain old brew, and not a latte with a leaf swirled on top. Which Joe loved, too. He didn't say it, though, because he laughed, which made Ben smile, and he had his hand on the table already so he could've just reached out and brushed the new calluses of his fingertips across Ben's had and let it be that.

But he thought about it a moment too long, and then Ben shifted in his chair to look out at the rest of the quiet street, and moved his hand off the metal tabletop, and Joe's tiny ill-formed plan now had no foot to kick off.

He wanted to keep his foot on Ben's when they touched under the table, but like he did every time - like does now, will do now - he moved it away and hid it with a full body shift. As if he was just uncomfortable. But he wasn't. A Nike sole on the toe of his own shoe was somehow the most comforting contact he'd had with someone in a while. Maybe it was because he was actually just lonely, like some had suggested. That he needed to get laid, like others had put, more crudely.

Maybe it was just because it was Ben, and he was so nonchalant about small touches. Ben, who giggles when he's around few people, but never press, and likes beer but not espresso martinis and somehow looks so beautiful as a woman and incredibly handsome as a man.

Joe pokes his tongue between his front teeth at the thought of posting a certain picture he has of the both of them posing while in their _I Want To Break Free_ outfits, knees bent and lips pouted, leaning on each other like they'd seen girls do in photos. Joe remembers that day, and that picture as a result, so very clearly. Because in one of those inbetween moments, he looked over at Ben in a skirt and long blonde hair, and he didn't just see the costume. He saw someone pretty. Someone with strong thighs and a very deep voice and lipgloss that made Joe zone in on his mouth, the teeth behind them, the words that might come out of it if he was to go up and kiss him right then.

 

It was a stupid thought then. It's a stupid thought now.

If he had done it, though...he'd at least know.

He'd know if what he avoids is something to be avoided. He'd know why he darts around the topic whenever it's brought up.

He'd know what Ben's mouth feels like on his. Whether he'd be soft and tender and warm, or whether he'd press and push back. Maybe push him away. Maybe hit him.

He didn't do it, so he doesn't know, and therefore he doesn't need to think about it. It's all a joke anyway. Something he made up, of his own sound mind. And now his mind is turning it into some fantasy that's been pushed in there by account names he's never seen before and one-line sentences about ship names and 'how cute is this??' and 'boyfriends'.

It's like that sentiment of telling a lie so often you begin to believe it yourself. Which is not what he's doing at all.

Joe tells himself he's doing fine as he hits the button on the side of his phone and rolls over to put it back on the bedside table. He shuts his eyes, and tries to ignore it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends. are you pretending you're not gay too? welcome to my home.


	2. Chapter 2

He feels like he's dangling himself from a goddamn cherry-picker posting this.

His toothpaste and brush are in the sink, tap running over them both as Joe re-words the same comment he's had in his head for the past 24hrs.

_'Wish you would'_

It's short, sharp, to the point. It follows the trend of his flirting, of the back and forth and the tongue-in-cheek cheekiness. It makes sense considering what he's writing it under.

 _benhardy_ , seven hours ago. Thousands of comments already posted that he doesn't want to read yet.  
It's the photo of them dancing together, in costume for the 'meeting about Live Aid' scene of their movie, apple in his mouth, with Ben swooping down to bite at it. Lips closed around it the same way Joe's are, inches away.

It's them pretending to kiss, messing about and smiling and holding hands. Joe's being dipped and he's grinning because he's the taller one and this isn't how this goes. Ben's mouth is still chasing his.

Joe had originally put them up, with Ben's permission, and Ben had faked being angry with them due to the flurry of comments about their proposed relationship. But this time they were up on his account, of his own accord, with a caption that had Joe do a double-take when he first saw it.

_'How about next time I forgo the apple? ;)'_

 

The water running down the drain has turned hot, and Joe absently puts the small plug in the sink and takes his things out of it, letting the water fill so he can shave before showering. He was taught to do it the other way, that the hot water of the shower loosens up his pores to make it easier or something ridiculous like that, but he prefers to shave first. The razor on his face forces him to wake up enough for him to focus, and he never feels like he's washed off the tiny hairs well enough if he doesn't shower after. Call him pedantic.

Sink full enough, Joe puts his phone on the edge of the bench and toes the cupboard open so he can take his razor out. It's not too expensive - he bought it at some mini mart while overseas filming, but it's metal, and heavy, and it's still sharp enough to use a few more times before he needs to buy a new one. He's not too sure it's nice enough to be able to replace the blades.

Instagram stays open as he shaves. The words he's typed into the small box stare at him as he stares himself down in the mirror. Shakes the foam off in the water. Brings it to his cheek.

_Wish you would._

It's too much, right?

It's nothing worse than anything he's said before. A mild, flirtatious comment meant more as a dig to the people that thought he was dating his friend in secret (some secret) than anything else.

That's what it was meant to be. It's what this all started off as.

Joe rinses the razor and wonders if Ben is doing the same. If he takes this long carrying out mundane bathroom hygiene because he's wondering how Joe will interpret his words. If he thinks about taking it just a little further to see what'll happen. What kind of reaction he'll get. If he noticed when Joe moved away when they sat pressed against each other. If he noticed when he moved closer. Probably not.

Joe pulls the plug out of the sink, tosses the razor on the bench and watches water splatter out of the blades. He presses a towel a few times to his face and decides that's enough.

As soon as his hands are dry, his phone is in them again.

 

_Wish you would._

 

It's too fucking much.

He grips the rough fabric of the towel harder and wonders _why._ Why now is this not okay? When did this stop being funny? When did it start being painful? And why is it painful to read his own words - his own humour - when there's no reason for it to be?

 _Because it's true,_ Joe's subconscious supplies, and Joe's phone is hitting the floor in a half-drop half-throw before he even registers what he's doing. Not much is registering with him lately. Why should a thousand dollar impulse change that.

 _I'm not gay,_ he thinks furiously. It's a fucking joke. _This is a fucking joke and I'm not gay. I am not fucking gay!_

Joe realises he's squinting, and he relaxes his eyes. Lets them wander to the floor where his phone lay face-down on the tiles a few feet away. He groans and moves to pick it up, letting the sound bubble louder into something more aggravated when he sees how fucked his screen is.

He can still use it, thank God, but the visibility is like looking through cling film.

Whatever. It's fine. It's all fine.

The screen dims and brightens at random intervals as he makes his way onto Google to find an Apple store near him to get it repaired before anybody asks questions. He doesn't trust himself to be able to lie if he is asked, and he doesn't particularly like the taste of the truth on his tongue either. "Yeah, I threw my phone thinking about the possibility that I might be gay, bi maybe, doesn't matter - it's all internalised homophobia. Cause who wants to be that? Not me. Look at my broken property; I don't want any part of it."

Fuck, what would his dad say.

God, his dad. His dad would be so kind, so gentle, so accepting. Joe would cry and he'd talk him through it and assure him he's loved. His mom would do the same. His friends...they love him so much. Not that he's worried about what people think. Except one person.

He has to ignore this, because if he doesn't, he knows Ben will notice soon. A lot of people will, and he doesn't give a fuck about them, but he cares so much about what Ben thinks. He wants to know he's accepted by him. That he thinks he's funny and cool and sweet. He can't stomach not being liked by him anymore. How ridiculous is that? To think of a friend in such a school-days, pining way. Like they're pen pals and Ben's been sending him postcards from his hometown with heartfelt sentiments all this time, not joking around with the term 'boyfriend' on the internet back and forth.

 

The comment is still loaded in the box when Joe opens Instagram, magically. It's known for deleting a lot of his drafts he's had for a while, perhaps deeming them not funny enough to keep saved. Joe can understand that. He has his off days.

He stares at it, pending underneath a bunch of miscellaneous words and mentions to people he doesn't know. They glow blue to remind him of who's going to see this.

He thinks of himself twisting in bed the previous night, fidgeting with shit and dancing around an issue he's created in his own mind, and decides. He wants to sleep tonight.

He hits post, and slips his phone in his pocket.

It buzzes less than a minute later. He ignores it. It buzzes again, and he knows it's gotta be some random young fan @ing him, notifications coming through despite him blocking them a long time ago. What else would it be. It buzzes again, and if it's someone texting him they should know by now to just call if they know he's free. He takes his phone out of his pocket anyway.

It's a notification from Instagram, but it's not from a random account.

It's from Ben. The real Ben.

 

_Joe_

_Hey buddy_

_U got a minute?_

 

He doesn't. Fucking hell, right now he doesn't even have a second. He can't breathe. He's going to die of asphyxiation in the doorway of his bathroom with a broken iPhone and a crush on his best friend.

 

_Yeah_

He finds himself answering anyway, and for once he isn't telling himself to stop squinting as he looks at the screen.

_Of course_

 

As soon as the second message is sent, Joe's phone is ringing. Not facetime, or some messaging app he's downloaded to talk to various people he's met while working. It's a phone number he's linked through Whatsapp so he can call overseas. Joe bites the corner of his lip, coughs out a throat-clear, and brings the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Ben."

 

_"Hey, Joe. I, uh, forget what time it is for you. I didn't wake you up, did I?"_

  
Joe smiles despite himself. "Nah, you didn't. I'm just up."

 _  
"Oh, good."_ There's a lull, and Joe holds his tongue so he doesn't do something dumb like start making small talk about their time difference.  _"I saw your comment."_

Great. He's done it now.

"Oh, that," Joe huffs out a laugh, and hopes it sounds genuine. "You must've been refreshing for the past few hours waiting for me. Such a gentleman."

  
"I wanted to ask you about it." Ben's voice comes out crackly over the phone, but Joe doesn't miss the feeling Ben is pressing for something.

Joe clears his throat. "Yeah- Sure bud, go ahead."

  
_"Did you mean that?"_

  
"Did I mean what I said in the comment?"

_"I know we say shit like this all the time, but I saw it and I just thought- I mean I know it's dumb but I had to ask because- "_

"Because...?"

_  
"Sometimes I don't know when we're joking, you know?"_

 

Joe nearly misses the word 'we'.

He nods into the phone, suddenly needing Ben to be standing in front of him, looking at him, watching his reactions and his movements and asking him firsthand, face-to-face why he really called. Instead, he grips the phone a little tighter and pushes it closer to his ear.

  
"Yeah."

  
There's a long pause of soft breathing with neither of them speaking, and Joe feels it's the most he's understood himself in months.

Ben's voice is quiet when he speaks.

_"I think we should stop with this."_

 

Joe splutters. "With-wh- You don't want to be friends?"

  
_"No, of course not, Joe, fucking hell. What makes you think I'm saying that? I just can't do this online charade shit anymore._ _I'm tired of the comments and the speculation and having to act on it but also ignore it - it's tiring, Joe. Aren't you tired of it too?"_

 _  
_ "In a way, yeah." Joe swallows, but it's dry, and hurts the back of his throat. "I can delete my comment if you'd like."

  
_"This isn't about your comment, Joe. I mean it is- that's why I'm-"_ There's a loud groan, and Joe has a fleeting fear Ben's about to hang up.

_"I wish I could see you right now. Would make all this a whole lot easier. Never been good at verbalising...stuff."_

  
"Well, we're actors. We're used to having someone write our scripts for us, tell us how to say it, too." Joe says gently, and he theres a laugh on the other end of the line.

  
_"Yeah, well you've got a one-up on me. You've got the writing background as well. And directing."_

  
"You finally watched my movie?"

  
_"I'd seen it. Before you asked that time, you know. I watched it soon as I found out you created your own projects."_ Ben says, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

  
"Oh."

 

  
There's another lull, but this time it doesn't seem so full. Joe breathes in time with the breaths coming through from Ben on the other side of the world.

"I wanted to kiss you once, you know." Joe says before he can think about it.

  
_"Oh?"_

  
"When you were dressed up, and we were between takes and you were just standing around,"

  
_"Was it cause there were people around?"_

  
"Huh?"

  
_"That you, uh, didn't. Was it because there were people around?"_

  
Joe shakes his head before remembering Ben can't see it.

"No, it wasn't that."

  
_"What was it?"_

  
"I'm not- You looked pretty, and I was curious, I guess. But I'm not gay."

  
_"No, I know."_ Pause. _"I was curious, too. A few times, actually."_ Another pause. _"I might still be...you know."_

  
"Curious?"

  
_"Yeah."_

  
Joe bites his tongue, but it doesn't stop him this time. "Me too."

 

He's aware he's standing on cold floor tiles at 7am, wearing only boxers with a still slightly damp face, but right now, for Joe, Ben is the only thing he can focus on.

"I want to see you." He says, and doesn't regret it. He means it.

  
_"I want to see you too. I can't, though. I've got a few projects, and then press afterwards. You know how it goes. Scheduling a coffee run is a nightmare these days."_

  
Joe does get it. It's the part of the job - of being a 'known' actor - that he hates the most. The constant shifting of times and places and dates and moods of people around him as a result. The fact that he can't get that dog he wants because he doesn't know if he'll be home in the next six months, or if he'll even have found another job in that time.

  
"What should we do?" He says finally. "About the Instagram thing, I mean."

  
_"We don't have to stop posting pictures of us. We're friends. But if we could stop the uh- the flirting. That'd be good. For me."_

  
"Right." Joe says, and tries not to feel like he's lost something.

  
_"Doesn't mean we can't still do it though?"_

 

It's small, and comes off as a question, but Joe doesn't miss the tone in Ben's voice. He's hopeful.

 

"Just between us?"

  
_"Just us."_

 

Joe smiles.

"I'd like that, Ben."

  
_"I know."_

 _  
_ "How d'you know?"

_  
"You thought about kissing me. And you make fun of my last name, and you have a picture saved of my dog on your phone. And you're...curious about me."_

 

And suddenly, hearing Ben say it like that, it makes sense. It's a sudden rush of oxygen to his lungs. A hit to the chest that kicks his heartbeat into an off rhythm, pounding away against every other organ in his chest until it's all he can feel. Whole.

Joe smiles into the phone.

"I am."

He doesn't need to hear it back.

 

-

 

Hours later, Joe's back where he started. He plugs his phone into the cable in the wall and thanks his expired phone insurance that it still functions. His water bottle is empty, but he doesn't need to fidget around with it without actually drinking anything, so he caps it, places it down, and rolls over.

His phone buzzes two seconds later. He doesn't ignore it.

 _Ben Jones:_ _< image>_

Joe takes the phone and unlocks it with his squinting eyes. The messenger app opens automatically. He presses his lips together in an attempt to stop his smile when he sees what it is.

Ben's chucked a perfectly good green apple into an empty trash can.

Joe lets his smile grow bigger as he types.  
  
_So I should be holding you to that 'next time' then?_

Ben's responses come in quick.

  
_Well_

_In the words of Joseph Mazzello the third_

_"Wish you would"_

The little talking dots jump up and down for a moment, then:

_Too bad we're not putting this on Insta_

_I have the perfect hashtag already_

_#makeapplejealous_

 

It's so dumb, it's absolutely perfect.

Joe's fingers clutch the sides of his phone the same way his heart seems to push against his chest - not painful, but full. So impossibly full.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened to sad songs while writing this but had to end it on a happy note. it's what we all deserve.


End file.
